She had been sedated, devastated, and desperate to find someone to blame.
She had said cruel things and later forced herself to forget them.
She had never imagined that Noah had carried those words for five years.
“Sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking clearly…”
“But you said it.”
“It was not your fault.”
Noah looked directly at her.
“You never told me that.”
The apartment no longer seemed like the setting of an affair.
It had become something worse.
It was a perfectly arranged record of everything the family had refused to say.
Daniel explained that the nights had become unbearable.
Noah woke up screaming.
He tore the sheets from the bed.
He ran into his father’s room.
Sometimes he believed he was trapped inside the overturned vehicle again, smelling gasoline and hearing Rebecca tell him not to close his eyes.
That was why they slept in the same bed.
Not because of a shameful secret.
Because Daniel needed to monitor Noah’s breathing and stop him from wandering through the apartment while disoriented.
